


Walk On, Till You're Home

by LeighLa (WarieLym)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, F/F, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 16:26:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15028565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarieLym/pseuds/LeighLa
Summary: The house is still, not a pleasant sound to be heard. No music, no drone of the television, no gentle whirring of Carl's chair lift.Only the uneven, shambling steps and clacking jaws of the monster roaming the halls of his father's beloved home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> baby's first fic, go easy on me uvu

The bright reds and oranges of the tree leaves brought to life the grey canvas that was Detroit, a chilled breeze rustling the leaves and disturbing an otherwise still landscape. The sun had begun to set, washing pink and orange across the sky.

This view, out of a window on the second floor of Carl’s home, had always been one of his favorites. They would sit, play chess, watch life go on as usual outside with not a care in the world. Birds chirping just beyond the glass, families passing through the park, the bloom of flowers in warmer months.

 

There was a time when he wouldn’t have traded this view for anything.

 

That time, specifically, was yesterday.

 

Today, looking out that window, it took everything Markus had not to fall to his knees and scream.

Everything had been fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. He served Carl his breakfast, cleaned the studio, watched his adopted father paint, smiled to himself as he heard the man grumbling about the ‘state of things’ as usual, and then-

 

_A clatter against the window, Carl dropped his palette._

_Blood._

 

_Smearing over the enormous glass walls of the studio. A young woman’s screams rattling the walls as she pounded against them with her fists, tears pouring from her eyes and mingling with the gore of a fresh wound on what was likely once a sweet face._

 

 _The paint fell from Markus’ hands as he darted to one of the garden doors, throwing it open. No sooner than he opened the door had the girl crashed into his chest, desperate hands scrambling for purchase on what was once a pristine shirt, sobbing incoherently, the only words escaping her unmangled “_ Closeitcloseitcloseitplease- _”_

 

_Markus spared a glance behind him, catching Carl out of the corner of his eye, a phone gripped tightly in hand, knuckles white, as he motioned his agreement._

_Calling the police was taken care of, then._

 

_He guided the girl to the ground as gently as he could, muscles tense with anxiety. Not sparing a glance as she crawled further into the studio, he slammed the door shut and immediately moving to draw the curtains. Whatever was out there, whoever did this, he didn't want them knowing she- they were in here._

_By the time he finished, Carl was by the girl’s side, phone resting in his lap as he tried to calm her sobs, body shaking violently as she pawed at her face. Her teeth were visible through a gash in her cheek, her nails rough and ragged and caked with dirt. She had fought back._

_Carl’s hands were shaking, Markus noted. So were his. Spattered with the blood of young girl who was shivering on the cold floor of the studio. Blood that pooled around her, spreading till it hit the edge of Carl’s canvas._

 

_Suddenly, it felt a lot harder to stand up straight._

 

Markus collapsed in the chair by the window, pointedly staring into the chess board.

 

 _Breathe in, breathe out, count your fingers, pinch yourself- this is happening._ There was no way around it. It had been no more than 2 hours since the arrival of their unexpected guest, and still he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

 

_“The ambulance isn’t coming, Markus.” Carl had said, jaw set as he continued. “No police either. People are gettin’ attacked like this all over the city. They say they can’t spare even one person.” His grip on the armrests of his chair was at odds with the practiced calm in his voice. The calm of a man not willing to expose his child to the horrors that advanced on them._

 

He had never seen that look in Carl's eye. The thinly veiled panic reserved for nothing he had yet lived through. Markus could only imagine how he looked, if Carl was this shaken. All over the city? Was it a revolution, an invasion? A disease? At this point he was willing to accept ‘animals escaping the zoo’ as an explanation. Anything that would help him make sense of the girl dying in their living room.

 

She had barely managed to rasp that her name was Zoey before the fever claimed her senses, eyes rolling back as she slumped into the couch.

 

Carl had set to work staunching the bleeding as best as he could, as Markus locked the doors and pulled down the shutters of the studio, but Markus could see in the slant of his father’s shoulders that it was futile. 

 

At some point he ceased his efforts, instead carding his fingers through her pale curls, plastered to her skin with dried blood. She had stopped shaking, but her forehead still shone with sweat, her skin losing more and more color by the moment.

 

Markus wondered who she was before this. She was dressed brightly, her face plump and kind. A teacher, maybe, his mind filled in. How many people would miss her? Did she have parents he’d have to console, to hold himself together as they screamed her name in agony?

 

Thoughts of anything and everything raced through his head, of North and his friends, of the kindly neighbors, of every friendly face he had ever taken for granted, even Leo, in a feeble attempt to drive away the one that plagued him. 

 

Neither of them were doctors. Even with Markus' healthcare training, without proper help she would die here.

  

And then she did.

 

But she didn’t stay that way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Anderson household continues life as usual, more or less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby RK900.....Camden. Connor is a good big/small brother. Hank is still best dad.

Things could certainly be worse, Connor mused to himself. The city could be on fire, there could be acid rain, they could be starving, cold, dying on the streets with no hope of surviving-

 

But here he sat, on the living room floor with a hulking pile of dog splayed across his lap, his father and younger brother sleeping restlessly on the couch behind him. Hank somehow managed to pass out sitting upright while he flipped through the binder of old DVDs he kept on the bookshelf, pointing out old favorites as he went. Connor didn't mention it the few times his voice shook. 

" _You kids ever seen the Terminator?"_

_"Is that one of your strange old movies? The one with the robot that becomes the governor?"_

_"That- that's not- well- no, not at all. We're gonna sit down 'n watch it as soon as this all blows over. You two have no taste."_

Connor hadn’t understood before why the lieutenant insisted on keeping such an outdated format, along with all of his paper books, but after the blackout and subsequent loss of signal he was grateful for it. The siblings were able to keep themselves busy with fortification of the house, but Hank was getting more restless every day.

 

It had been about a week since the trains stopped running, shops closed their doors, and armored vehicles began rumbling down the streets of the city. A whole week without news. Camden had suggested they begin rationing food immediately, in case this was more than a security scare, and he was right to. Feeding three fully grown men and a large dog would wear down Hank’s pantry quickly under good circumstances, let alone  _ this. _

 

In the short window that the internet was available before everything collapsed, Connor had scoured the news for answers, and found none that led him to any realistic conclusions. 

 

_ The dead were walking. You shoot them, if you’re lucky they fall down, and then they get back up. He watched shaky, disorienting video footage of first responders putting bullet after bullet into the head of something that was once human, the creature only collapsing after its head was completely unrecognizable. And then three more emerged from behind it. The footage ended. Connor was glad it ended there. _

_ He watched a news program cut to black as screams erupted from inside the studio, the panic reflected in the anchor’s eyes told him everything he needed to know. _

 

Now wasn’t the time to think about that. That wasn’t an immediate concern. As long as they were inside and fed, they were fine. 

_ Until they weren't _ , his brain supplied, unhelpfully. His gaze drifted from Sumo’s sleeping face and the drool drying on his pant leg to the kitchen table, now a mess of papers and folders.

 

All reports of attacks from the past month. They should have seen this coming. How did they not? One incident became three, and before they knew it they were in the tens, fifties,  _ hundreds. _

He could only hope that it was an isolated incident. Help had to come eventually. And if it didn’t, they would go find it. 

 

Behind him, someone stirred. Sumo’s ears perked up. Not sleeping, then? 

 

“Connor? What th’ fuck are you doin’ awake already?” Sleep slurred speech, if anyone needed rest it wasn’t Connor. Hank had run himself ragged trying to contact the DPD, only getting through to the Captain and a handful of other officers before his phone ran out of power. 

 

“I traded watch with Camden after a few hours. He has been over exerting himself. So have you.” He gently nudged Sumo off of him, giving the lumbering dog a pat to make up for it as he stood. “We’re running low, Dad.”

 

Hank’s head fell back onto the sofa, as he sighed wearily. “Huh. Thought so. You seen any sign of the neighbors?”

 

“No. No one has entered or exited the houses that I have seen, but it is entirely possible they used another exit or entrance.”

 

“So they’re either holed up in there in the same boat as us, or they’re out there. Either gettin’ chewed on or scavenging.” Hank ran a hand over his face, pressing on the bridge of his nose. Headache? Connor couldn’t blame him. 

 

They were lucky enough to have been on leave the day things spiraled out of control. Connor had managed to sprain something during their last case, and Hank hadn’t trusted him to stay off his feet at home. Camden had simply said  _ ‘Reed will pick up my slack, he is too proud to perform poorly during my absence.’ _

He would never understand that ‘friendship’, if that’s what it was. A nudge to his leg kept him from wondering if Gavin was alive. 

 

“We need to have a plan.” Camden intoned, blue eyes clear. Always the first one awake, to Hank’s annoyance, and Connor’s amusement. Nothing like a 6’4 alarm clock busting down your bedroom door at 5am. 

 

“We do. We can’t go outside unprepared.” Connor nodded, fiddling idly with the hem of his sweatshirt, paying no mind to Hank’s raised brows. “From what I managed to piece together, it takes much more ammo to incapacitate one of these...people than what we have available. Perhaps we would benefit from saving bullets as a last resort, and focusing on getting close?”

 

“That sounds reasonable, should we run into no more than two at a time. Any more than that and it falls apart.” 

  
“Hold on, stop right there.  _ We?  _ You assholes are staying right here.” There it was. The Dad Voice. Connor felt a frown tugging at his mouth already. “There’s probably plenty of food to find in the neighborhood,  _ I  _ just gotta stay quiet and outta sight.”

"Hank, we are significantly more agile than you. It would be safer for you to stay here with Sumo. He'll get lonely." 

 

Hank winced a bit at the use of his first name, but Camden seemed unfazed. He'd get it eventually, Connor hoped. Camden had only been adopted into the family a few years ago, and he was adjusting just as slowly as Connor had. The younger brother spoke of his foster parent very rarely, for good reason. Neither of them had perfect, or even  _good_ childhoods, but Hank was working to make sure they had those experiences  _now_.  Or he was, before the possibility of being eaten was brought into the picture. He shook the thought from his head. This wouldn't last forever. It couldn't.

This time next week they'd all be watching that dumb robot movie and badgering Hank about eating so much popcorn. They'd make it happen.

 

The two had apparently continued bickering while Connor was lost in thought. Up to him to break the deadlock, again. He sighed, leaning back on his hands.

 

"Camden, you are significantly more noticeable than Hank."

 

Hank barked a laugh triumphantly, but Connor cut him off. "That said, I am smaller than you and more agile than Hank. I'll scout a few nearby houses and bring back what I can."

 

That rekindled the argument just as quickly as the sentence left his mouth, but they all knew  _someone_ had to leave. The point was only hammered home by Sumo whining over his bowl. And it was like that that Connor found himself hopping the fence of their back yard, pistol holstered, one of Hank's old combat knives in hand, and a radio clipped to his belt. He wasn't going far, and with any luck and the right vantage points Camden or Hank would be able to warn him of unseen threats. But this area was always quiet and the threat of disembowelment upon leaving the house had only made it quieter.

Connor hoped and prayed that there would be no trouble, but he felt it would be a better idea to expect it and be proven right rather than hope for the best and be disappointed. Or die.

Like Hank had so often said, what can go wrong, will go wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> so uh. i've never written fanfiction before but i really love the characters in this god forsaken game, and i love connor and markus and im gonna make the goddamn content i want to see in the world


End file.
